Event
by arctic draconis
Summary: It's the biggest event in Ryoma's career. Why's he plotting revenge? [oneshot, au-ish]


Disclaimer- Not mine.

Right this ficlet is a pointless piece of Ryoma fan spammage, only extremely loosely related to PoT.

It's dedicated to LadySith, coz she asked for it

(Don't hurt me too badly)

**Event **

Echizen Ryoma stood, waiting for the greatest event in his career. His throat was desert dry and butterflies freely roamed his stomach. Yet, on the surface, he appeared utterly confident. No hint of nervousness would show on his face. They would believe him immune to the pressure.

So drawn into his mantra, he barely felt the large hand that landed on his shoulder. He scowled, but didn't attempt to shake the hand off.

"You're up Echizen. Good luck." Ryoma acknowledged the other mans words with a nod and took a deep breath, preparing to step in front of what was sure to be a large crowd.

Ryoma walked forward, head held high, shoulders back. Every inch of him appeared calm and confident. As he stepped through the door hundreds of cameras went off, the flashes blinding him momentarily. But he didn't pause. He'd walked this ground too many times before.

Ryoma counted the twenty seven steps to the end of the runway, paused, tossed his head, did the required slow turn, hip cocked, and started his return. Twenty seven steps later he was once again behind the curtain, amidst the chaos of numerous models being rushed through dressing. He let himself exhale, taking a moment of calm before he too was swept up in the hurricane of the dressing rooms.

He was soon a life size doll for a group of stylists; hair, cosmetics, clothes. He stood still and let them do as they pleased, lifting his arms and tilting his head when prompted. The less resistance, the sooner it was finished. Then it was back to wait behind the curtains for his cue.

The process was repeated a number of times, until at least he could put on his final 'costume' for the night. This was the most elaborate, the centre piece of the show, which the designer just "had to have" Ryoma showcase. It was uncomfortable and heavy, and he had to work to maintain his balance in the high heeled boots they'd given him. This was exaggerated by the large 'head dress' that went with the exotic piece. Overall, he felt ridiculous.

Waiting for his runway walk was different this time around as the 'centre piece' had to be escorted by the designer. So when he felt an arm settle around his waist, he gritted his teeth, and settled for a sharp elbow to the other man's ribs, rather than death and dismemberment.

Santel was, as far as Ryoma was concerned, slimy. His whole attitude literally _'oozed'_ charm. Whenever the man touched him, he was left with the desire for a long hot shower with intensive scrubbing.

However, while his attitude was worse than Mizuki's, who he's worked for when just starting his fashion career, Santel's fashion sense balanced it out. No matter what Mizuki said about colour ratios creating harmony, fluorescent purple, green and yellow did NOT go, and thus any outfit featuring all three was unsightly.

As they stood waiting, Ryoma felt what was, unmistakably, the brush of a hand over his posterior, and he fought to keep from showing what he felt on his face. He'd been through this with the designer at the rehearsal. It was definitely groping, despite Santel's claim to be fixing his design on Ryoma's "flawed physique". Even if it had been true, the way Santel said it just rubbed Ryoma the wrong way.

_'Flawed physique, his ass!'_

The relief at the stage hand's cue caused a momentary sag in his posture, but he replaced it with his professional mask almost immediately. Just 54 more steps, a couple of pauses and he was free. No more oozing designer, uncomfortable clothes or blinding cameras for at least a week. He deserved a holiday. With that thought in his mind Ryoma's smile appeared almost genuine.

The walkout was perfect, even with Santel clinging like a limpet to his right arm. It was when they stopped at the end of the runway so Santel could promote (boast) about his collection that the problem occurred. Santel had a hand on Ryoma's ass. Santel had a hand on Ryoma's ass, IN PUBLIC. He had his hand on Ryoma's ass in front of HUNDREDS OF CAMERAS. And the jerk gave Ryoma's ass a deliberate squeeze. Ryoma's somewhat smile froze.

_'Don't punch him. Don't punch him. Don't punch him'_ ran counterpoint to _'He's dead. He's dead. He's dead. He's soooo **DEAD.**'_

Ryoma lost track of the sleaze's speech, the reporter's questions and the flash of cameras. He was glad that as a model he was only here for show because his mind was totally centred on how to humiliate Slimy. So much so, that the jerk had to tug on his arm to get Ryoma to start the return walk.

As they did so Ryoma 'leant' on the man, while slipping his foot in front of Santel. The resulting fall was mildly dramatic, but it wasn't an experience that would ensure Santel would never be seen in front of people ever again. So as Santel fell, Ryoma kept walking, right over the sleaze's crotch. The pathetic whimpering from beneath his feet gave Ryoma some satisfaction, but he was far from finished.

Satisfied with his demonstration as to the true purpose of high heel shoes, ensuring Santel would never procreate, Ryoma stopped by Santel's head. Bending the over the fallen man, he let a smirk linger on his lips.

"I'll break your fingers if they ever get near me or my ass again!" The still whimpering Santel failed to respond fast enough, so Ryoma squeezed the man's face, forcing him to look at Ryoma rather than his mutilated groin.

"Next time you'll keep your hands to yourself, won't you?" At Santel's frantic nodding, Ryoma released him, but as he did so he let the head dress fall onto Santel.

The impact knocked him out, stopping the pathetic whimpering. Hundreds of cameras were taking photo after photo of the confrontation. Ryoma finished the cat walk with a smirk on his lips and a strut in his step.

With any luck it would be a slow news day and the incident would be front page news.

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Comments appreciated. Criticisms considered. Flames ignored.


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